Dr. Thorpe:No two symbols are as universal and recognizable in our culture as hearts and springs.
Zack:I think I had a nightmare on Valentine's Day about the Predator that was exactly like this.
Dr. Thorpe:Those holes in the shoulders are where the laser cannon thing goes. After she's done with the Glamour Shot she's going to head out to the swamp to blow up the log Arnold is hiding under and then hit the club.
Zack:Next year they should consider not taking the yearbook pictures in a sauna.
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, and getting a shorter stool.
Zack:I'm not exactly sure what a Caker Girl is but I have a feeling it involves doing shots out of a bellybutton.
Dr. Thorpe:I think it's a religious sect that forbids belts, even in dire situations in which they would stop your pants from looking like 1985 mother-of-three, goin'-shoppin', let's-all-pile-into-the-van pants.
Zack:Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Those jeans that don't have pockets in the back and just seem to be one featureless desert of ass.
Dr. Thorpe:The best kind of pants are those ones with the superbleached knees and crotches. Nothing turns me on like a woman who looks like she pisses herself so habitually that it's permanently ruined her clothes.
Zack:Oh, no, it's even better when there are piles of bleach on the thighs but the crotch itself is completely unbleached so it looks like they're constantly pissing. I like to call them Accident Pants.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
U2 and Apple have conspired to place a U2 album into your music in the year 2014. You own a U2 album. And you can't get rid of it.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
Fashion SWAT... the fashion industry is obsessed with impracticality. We know that what designers create was never meant to be worn by the grimy masses, but that doesn't somehow diminish how ridiculous many of these costumes are. Make no mistake, they are costumes, and like a Halloween prize pageant we will turn our discerning gaze on the grievous fashion misfires of Paris, Milan, and New York. We're not pulling any punches, and we're definitely not interested in making any friends. We're Joan Rivers without Melissa Rivers to temper our screeching. We're the Fashion Police in jack boots. We are Fashion SWAT.